


Me and Mr. Gold

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Belle and Lacey are the same person godblessamerica, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Golden Lace, Gothic, Inspired by The Real Tuesday Weld, Lacey is racey but has belle's good nature kinda, Lust to love, Past Abuse, Rating May Change, Romance, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumpled Lace, Sexual Tension, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:25:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mr. Gold goes through the motions: wake up, drink, go to work, drink, go home, repeat. It's a never ending cycle. He doesn't expect nor want it to change.That is, until a new lass by the name of Isabelle "Lacey" French sashays into town and changeseverything.





	1. The Big Bad Wolf of Storybrooke

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by "Me and Mr Wolf" by the Real Tuesday Weld. 
> 
> Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrwT3bhRz8M
> 
> The song/story is an adult fairy tale about romance and vices (modern-day Red Riding Hood, kinda). The music video is purely metaphorical (IN MY OPINION), about a man who sees himself as a monster/beast, and indulges in vices and woman - basically, he's an alcoholic home wrecker (he "tears" the hearts of others out). But he runs into an equally troubled young woman who may prove to be his match. Mr. Wolf, overcome by lust, keeps trying to tempt her into being with him, but she evades him because she doesn't trust him, even though she is well aware of the chemistry brewing between them. When the wolf asks to take her to dinner, she says, "My hunger is real but there's more to love than a meal". Towards the end of the video, you see the woman chasing Mr. Wolf, but the wolf's shadow is the silhouette of a rabbit, while the woman's is of a beast. 
> 
> It reminded me of Rumbelle/Golden Lace/Rumpled Lace
> 
> "Me and Mr Wolf" is the third part of a trilogy of music videos (i.e. "the show must go on", "Kix", and "Me and Mr Wolf"), all of which are centered around a certain crooner.
> 
> AND ALSO: I DO NOT OWN THE REAL TUESDAY WELD OR ONCE UPON A TIME. IF I DID, THE SHOW WOULD JUST BE ABOUT RUMBELLE. I OWN NOTHING. NOTHING!

Lacey is a pretty little thing. 

And Mr. Gold likes pretty little things. 

Normally, his pretty little things come as small, handheld objects - not beautiful young woman. But beautiful Lacey was, and beautiful Gold liked. He does indeed like what he saw at Granny's that morning.

Mr. Gold's day started like any other. He woke up on the cold counter of his in-home bar, grumbling as a throbbing hangover began to make itself known. With a groan, he dragged himself off and out of the room, only to miraculously find himself in his parlor. He flopped down into a lavishly made armchair – too expensive to even look at, one might say. Gold uncorked a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid and filled a shot glass spun from frosted glass. “All in a day’s work,” he crooned to himself, roughly voiced. He downed the scotch in one gulp, wincing as it burned the back of his throat and landed into his rather sour stomach.

Gold sighed and roused himself a second time. The alcohol burned his emotions until they were nothing but forgotten ashes – as was the intention. He limped into the bathroom and gave himself a quick shower, dressed in his usual impeccable way, and finally made his way into the kitchen. He brewed and drank a cup of coffee, water too, and begrudgingly ate a raw egg with it all.

“To work, then,” he grunts, grabbing his cane.

Not one hour later did Mr. Gold find himself at Granny’s, the insufferably quaint diner run by the town’s most iconic matron, Edith Lucas – aka _Granny_. He didn’t hate, per say, entering the diner, he just preferred getting her rent money at the inn, the jointed building she also runs. Unfortunately she nor her tawdry granddaughter were there.

“Gold,” Mrs. Lucas clucked firmly, her sharp eyes pinning him through small round glasses the moment he walks through the door. She lumbered around the bar whipping her hands on a dirtied hand towel. Gold just nods, aloof, and waits for her to collect the rent check. 

He glanced around and found the establishment buzzing with a certain energy. It was not the typical sleepy small-town morning attitude. 

“Something happen?” he voiced quietly, typically not one to make conversation. After all, he was the town’s beast, not a busybody. However, every time he entered the diner in the morning it was packed with hungry customers. It wasn’t any different today than any other day, excluding one thing. Everybody was in a state, it seemed. 

“A newcomer came in last night,” Mary Margret, the sickeningly sweet elementary teacher, was the first to squeak out. Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow, having never heard the name before 

“Some new chick,” Leroy explained next, grumbling over his morning coffee, no doubt nursing a hangover. _Like Gold_. 

“Ah. Haven’t the pleasure to meet her,” Gold says quietly with a bit of sarcasm, standing with his hands folded over the golden handle of his cane. A newcomer always caused a big fuss. But he didn't worry much - this mystery woman would be coming to him for rent, like everybody else, if she decided to stay in Storybrooke.

Just then, a heavy hush fell across the diner.

The bell to the diner jingled as a new arrival suddenly entered the place, doing so on soft clicks of high heels. Gold turned to see like everyone else, curious for the cause of all the commotion.

He wasn’t disappointed.

A petite young woman sauntered into the diner with an air of sleepy regard. She wore a flashy black dress, too nice for this establishment, and had a respectable amount of makeup and eyeliner. Long rusty-chestnut tresses bounced freely about her shoulders, framing a pretty face, and pretty blue eyes.

Gold’s gaze darkened as it shifted downward onto her small breast, slim waist, slender wrists, shapely legs—

 _Holy Hell,_ Gold swore to himself as his mouth ran dry—or did it begin to water? He had to shut his open maw, just now realizing it was open. If it kept ogling her like this, he’d start panting like a mangy mutt.

In that moment, her sapphire eyes met his.

“Hi,” she greeted with an Australian accent, regarding him with a near-suspicious glare.

“Hello yourself, dearie.”

She sniffed and turned away from him, going to the bar just a foot away. She sat on a stool, in which was gallantly offered up by Dr. Whale. A thank-you was not given. Instead, she turned back to Mr. Gold. “I’m Lacey,” she said nonchalantly.

"Gold."

Without a word, Lacey leisurely bats her long eyelashes at him before turning around.

And what a _magnificent_ backside she had, he thought longingly. If he was a wolf, Gold humored himself, he'd be howling.

It was in that moment, he knew, he was done for.


	2. Snakes in Suits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey comes to town and meets Mr. Gold.

Many things could happen in a new place, Lacey knew. But the one thing she didn’t expect was the outright disturbance she caused just by showing up. 

She definitely didn’t anticipate Mr. Gold. 

Lacey was many things. A globetrotter. A wanderer. A barfly. A downright bitch. But she wasn’t inhuman, not heartless. Not entirely, at least. She liked the carefree lifestyle she was currently rolling with; constantly, Lacey was going from place to place, seeing new sights and meeting new faces. 

Trying new drinks.

Though not one to get so drunk she couldn't decipher her left foot from her right shoe, she enjoyed a nice scotch or wine from time to time. So it was no surprise that when Lacey, propped up against her car at a teeny tinny gas station in the middle of no where so she could read over her map (because Siri was overrated, in her opinion), saw the tiny, near microscopic mark of a town called Storybrooke in the middle of (no surprise here) no where. With a quick research session on her phone, Lacey had discovered that this “Storybrooke” was a quaint little village/town near the sea, nestled in the deep forests of Maine. It was so far out from all the main Maine attractions or cities; it wasn’t even a road to casually pass by in order to get from point A to B. This pathetic place was practically nonexistent! 

Yet Lacey loved adventure. And, from the sorry amount of information she’d just discovered, it had a pretty good bar, café, and inn. So, hey, what’d the harm in swinging by this little village?

Apparently they saw her as the harm.

Storybrooke took hours to find, getting lost three or four times before Lacey was ready to give up and drive to Boston – but, like the light at the end of the tunnel, there it was: the welcome sign! 

Gleeful, the young French drove into the town and sought the inn out first thing.

She parked her car outside a building called Granny’s and waltzed out, waving her fingers at a particularly attractive young man walking down the street. He raised an eyebrow at her, gaze transfixed on her bare legs and tight pencil skirt, seconds before walking into a light post. Sniggering behind a hand, Lacey made her way inside.

“Hello? Anyone home?” she called out, looking around the musty old room. It was an antique room, almost, and for good measures she ringed the little dusty, silver bell on the counter. A minute later an elderly woman lumbered in, followed by a red-clad girl around Lacey’s age. 

“Well, hello there, my dear,” said the elder, squinting her eyes at Lacey as if she expected the stranger to up and cause a riot. “You lookin’ for a room?”

“Yeah,” Lacey said, pursing her lips. She didn’t feel necessarily welcome, here. However, the straightforward elder perked up and near-ran to the counter to open a huge guestbook. It was gray, how dusty it was.

“We don’t get visitors, like, ever,” the younger female claimed, looking Lacey up and down with poorly contained excitement. She nearly glued herself to Lacey’s side. “Where are from!?”

“Ruby! Give the girl some space!” the elder said, but with a chuckle. She looked to Lacey with a softer expression. “It’s true. You’ll cause quite the commotion, girly. Guard yourself.”

Already, Lacey was interested. She was ready to go out and face the day, explore this strange little town (or village?) and cause all the commotion she wished.

But she was tired, and her butt hurt from sitting in her rundown station wagon out front. So Lacey just nodded and signed in, leaving only to gather her bags from her car before, quiet literally, crashing in her room.

And like that, she was out like a light.

~

The following morning came too quickly. She squinted at the lighting filtering in through her moth-bitten curtains and stretched out, yawning dramatically. Her eyes itched from sleep-dust or whatever that shit was called that formed around her eyes. The room, she noticed, smelled like cider and pine.

Lacey tore off yesterday’s clothing before hopping into the shower, redressing in a black dress and throwing a little makeup on. She wasn’t looking to party right now, per say, but she wanted to strut her stuff and stir up this trouble she was warned she’d cause. 

Lacey was not someone to be walked upon.

She left her room at 8:20 am. When a glance around the inn told her no-one was here, she left and went around the building to the diner. Again, called Granny’s. _Is that girl called Ruby going to be here_ , Lacey wondered? She was in need of a partying buddy.

When she walked in, Lacey worried she’d walked into a tomb from how damn quiet it was. People were packed in the diner, frozen in mid act. All eyes were pinned on her.

Damn it to hell, Lacey thought, forcing her expression to be on of indifference. A tiny town, secluded from the world. Of-fucking-course they were going to flip their shit once the newbie walked in. But the old woman at the inn warned her as much, and Lacey didn’t exactly expect everyone to run up to her and express their undying love for her upon first meetings.

However, all but one person didn’t stare at her as if she was some alien.

A man, not entirely facing her but indeed looking at her, was standing near the age-old cash register in a black three-piece suit. Little wisps of silver ran thought his longish, light brown hair that cascaded down to his shoulders. He had a sharp, calculative gaze sprinkled with something akin to genuine curiosity; he had sharp features, too. 

And nice eyes. Very nice eyes.

She watched as his tongue darted out to dampen his lips. Those nice whisky-sable eyes undressed her like a man dying of thirst guzzles water. Lust, Lacey is used to. She can work with that. Besides, he’s a silver fox by the looks of it. And _loaded_ – because, damn, his cane looks more expensive than a fucking Ferrari.

“Hi,” she greets as she approaches the older man. He looks surprised she even spoke to him, but the man was so composed he hardly showed it. His nostrils flared for a moment.

“Hello yourself, dearie.”

 _Dear lord in heaven_ , she thought in the depths of her mind. He was Scottish. She bloody loved Scottish accents.

Lacey wants to bat her eyes and flirt with this delightful specimen of a human being. Quite possibly, seduce him into buying her a drink (or three) and then follow him back to his place and let him have his way with her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done that, of course – yet, when was the last time she had sex? Not since Sir McKeith Shitface or whatever his name was. Lacey was in need of a good lay.

But they were on the stage of, well, whatever this thing in the diner was. It wasn’t a bar. People were watching them like they anticipated her or this Scotsman to explode. So, begrudgingly, she lets it go and takes the seat some fuckboy or whatever he was offered up.

“I’m Lacey,” she adds, because she wants this man to know whom she is, to know that she’s not leaving right away. 

To give a name for him to say when she straddles him.

To her pleasure, he responds with a simple and smooth, “Gold”. 

But that’s it.

Gold, that impeccable silver fox in a suit, turned to the same elderly lady who signed her in at the inn. She approached the man with a near-glare, but a light respectfulness was swimming in her beady eyes. 

The woman said nothing, but handed him a slip of paper. A check, perhaps. Gold smiled slightly like fox, a soft confidence coating him that Lacey hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t brutish or dripping with too much testosterone like some of the young men who tried to impress her at the bars. It wasn’t even the confidence of a high ruler or political figure. No, Gold doesn’t even need confidence, Lacey realizes. He just gets what he wants with no questions asked.

This is a man who knew he was feared and respected. Maybe even hated. This was a man who could make a town do whatever the fuck he wants with just a word.

This was a man no one dared to cross.

Lacey looked around and watched how people regarded Gold.

There was fear in their eyes.

She turns back and watched the man take the check and nod wickedly, with a slow kind of drunken calm that lulled her senses. He turned with a graceful step (surprising, since he had a cane), and said, “A pleasure as always, Mrs. Lucas.”

Mrs. Lucas, the old woman, grunted without so much as a “Bye”. 

And like that, Gold left. But not before giving Lacey that longing lustful look. This time, however, it didn’t give her chills of a mirrored desire. 

No, Lacey felt disgust, now.

“ _Gold?_ ” she inquired Mrs. Lucas. The woman humored her and answered with a light sneer.

“Mr. Gold: landlord and pawnbroker."

"He owns this place?"

The woman gave her a hard look. "He owns the town.”

Mr. Gold isn’t even the fucking mayor but he owned this godforsaken town. Fuck that, Lacey cried internally as she asked Mrs. Lucas for some coffee, ignoring the stares. Mr. Gold was, without a doubt, a dangerous man. A _very_ dangerous man. And, not to mention, the brunette swore a long time ago to stay out of all that political shit and nonsense. No snakes in suits. That led to pain, like always. It always did. Lacey wanted to have _fun_. Not get bloody _murdered_. Literally or metaphorically speaking. Absently, she rubs at the long jagged scar running along her collarbone hidden beneath her dress. 

It wasn’t even nine in the fucking morning and Lacey was already swearing to stay far, far away from Mr. Gold. 

No matter how fine his ass is.


End file.
